


Books and Stuff

by TinyLoves



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21619639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyLoves/pseuds/TinyLoves
Summary: Modern au where Watts owns a really messy bookstore. One day Jackson wanders in and takes it upon himself to help Watts organize (but maybe he’s just really into Watts).With a side of George/Henry being Jackson's obliviously in love roommates.
Relationships: Augustus Jackson/Llewellyn Watts, George Crabtree/Henry Higgins, Slugger Jackson/Llewellyn Watts
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

“Looks like that’s it!” 

Jackson felt relief as he turned away from the finally empty van to admire his new house. Two stories, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and even a small backyard. 

Crabtree was leaning against the entrance door frame looking about as exhausted as Jackson felt. His eyes wandered to Higgins who looked nearly as dead as the yellowing grass he was crashed on, limbs sprawling and an arm covering his eyes. 

Jackson smiled and corrected himself. His, Henry, and George’s home he supposed. He noted that he would have to do something about that grass. 

George huffed a sigh of relief. They had been carrying all their combined possessions inside for the better part of an hour, the sun pounding relentlessly onto their neck every time they stepped out from the tree’s shade to grab another box from the van. 

“Well then, that just about does it!” said Crabtree. “A job well done! I’d say this calls for some celebration.”

Jackson almost rolled his eyes.

“Celebrate? George, we don’t even have anything out of the boxes,” Jackson said, gesturing towards the house and to the piles of boxes and unplaced furniture that waited menacingly through the door. 

Higgins groaned audibly, cutting off George’s come back and causing two heads to shoot towards him in shock, this being the first sign of life he had made in almost ten minutes.

“But I am about to die!”

This time Jackson really did roll his eyes.

“I’m surprised you’ve made it this far what with all the hard work you’ve been doing,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. 

“Oh Jackson, can’t we relax a little? Henry is literally dying, you must be tired too, lets just take an hour to admire the place. Or I don’t know, sit down and have some cold water? That’s all we have since you forgot to get groceries,” George said, staring accusingly at Jackson. That was his fault, he had promised to stock up on essentials but it had slipped his mind.

Jackson would have liked to at least move the boxes into their proper rooms, but he was also too tired to argue. It was nice to be getting a home with his two best friends, but he was still going to have to get used to it. It was far better than his last living arrangement and much closer to the school that he was recently hired to teach at. Jackson sighed. 

“Okay. You guys can take a break and I’ll go see what they’ve got at that grocery store we saw close by.”

“Really? You don’t have to do that,” said George, visibly perking up at the idea of food.

“Oh it’s no trouble. I wouldn’t mind getting to know the area a bit anyway. And at least there will be air conditioning there,” said Jackson, with a cheeky smile. “But when I get back we have to get at least some of this stuff organized,” he added.  
He could see George weighing the trouble of walking all the way there against the refuge of sweet, sweet cold. He shrugged, standing up straight and turning on his heel. 

“Suit yourself,” he shot over his shoulder.

Jackson nodded, turning down the street before pausing to look back.

“And you, Henry?” Jackson asked.  
Henry let out an agonized moan in response. Jackson shook his head and set off.

***

Jackson huffed a sigh of relief as the automatic doors slid open and cold air washed over him. His mood continued to lighten significantly as he picked a basket and made his way through the different aisles, pop music and the beeping of the checkout counter accompanying him on his journey. He figured he would get the essentials, at least some stuff for the morning. Cereal, milk, juice, some bread and cheese for lunch, pudding snack packs to bring Henry back to life. Maybe a watermelon if they were on sale. They could order in for dinner.

With almost everything collected Jackson made his way down the breakfast aisle towards the fruit section. 

When he reached the end of the aisle he stopped in his tracks.

There was a man hunched over the box of watermelons, slightly disheveled in his button down top, a curly mess of brown hair falling slightly over his forehead. He was quite good looking, yes, but what made Jackson hesitate to interrupt was the intensity with which he examined the watermelons. The man weighed one in each hand. He put them both down, knocking slightly on each of them before moving to a third. 

Although his methods of evaluation escaped Jackson, the man seemed to know what he was doing. Suddenly feeling awkward for staring (although the hunched brunette definitely hadn’t noticed, seeing as he was completely lost to the world outside of his important decision), Jackson took a deep breath and tried at a confident approach to the box.

As Jackson should have suspected, the man took absolutely no notice as he settled in beside him. Even when Jackson picked a watermelon up and glanced at him, the man continued his quest undisturbed. Jackson looked over quickly a few more times before cursing himself for being awkward and deciding to break the silence.

“Are... are these any good?” Jackson said.  
The only response was the now deafening sound of Katy Perry’s Fireworks playing on the radio. After a moment the man moved his head around slowly as if he had just finally noticed someone was there, his eyebrows raised slightly before falling back into their furrowed position. He glanced Jackson over for a bit, the man’s inquisitive eyes leaving him feeling quite exposed. Still seeming unsure, the man reached up with his right hand to scratch the left side of his face thoughtfully.

“I... don’t work here. That is what I myself am trying to ascertain.” He then returned his gaze to the watermelons as though that answered anything. He rapped his knuckles against the two he had his eyes on earlier before picking one up, tossing it slightly, and nodding. He gave Jackson what could qualify as a smile, at least in comparison to his earlier expression.  
  
“This one,” he said with finality before turning on his heel in an unnecessary full circle and disappearing towards the aisles, leaving Jackson with only an easy listening cover of Despacito in his wake. 

***  


Jackson made his way home without any other strange encounters. As though seeing a man that cute and that… strange was something that ever happened twice in one day. He paid close attention to the streets that surrounded his new home and was most excited about a small bookstore that sat just off the main street. There was a philosophy book that his niece had mentioned looking forward to reading and he hoped they might have it in stock. He went over for a closer look.

Painted in gold letters on a dark green sign were the words Young’s Books. It seemed to be closed if the lack of light was any indication. Jackson tried the door to double check. Locked. He moved back to the window and put his face closer to the glass to get a better look inside. 

Jackson was shocked by what he saw. From what he could make out there were piles and piles, hundreds of books stacked haphazardly on and around the shelves. Jackson wondered if maybe the place had been ransacked. That might explain why it was closed so early on a Wednesday afternoon. 

Jackson jumped in surprise as suddenly there was movement from the window front. When he looked down he saw a fluffy grey cat settling in on top of a large encyclopedia.  
The cat stared up at Jackson. Jackson smiled at it, waving as best as he could with the bags of groceries weighing down his arms. The cat meowed in return which made Jackson huff a small pleased laugh. He would have to come back to the store and visit the little creature sometime. For now, though, he had to get out of the sun.

***

The busy day came to a close with a late pizza dinner and reruns of The Office playing on a TV they had managed to set up on the wall over the empty fireplace. Jackson sat reclined into their armchair, half listening as Henry and George argued over George’s theory that Toby was actually the Scranton strangler. Jackson wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation but noticed that despite their incessant arguing, Higgins would steal soft glances at George every time the other man barked a laugh. He was beginning to suspect he may one day become the third wheel of this household, that is if either of his friends got their shit together and decided to actually talk to each other about their evident feelings. Which, honestly, would never happen unless Jackson intervened somehow. He decided it was a matter for another time.

As the theme song began to play once again Jackson said goodnight to his friends and excused himself to his room. Just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep Jackson remembered the messy bookstore and pulled his phone off his night stand to see if it had hours posted somewhere online. The phone was dazzlingly bright in his dark room and Jackson quickly turned the brightness down before googling the store.

A search of Young’s Books brought up a website and Jackson felt quite pleased as he clicked the link. That is, until he actually saw the website. Bright blue letters on a hideously neon green background announced that the store’s official website would be up and running by 2013. So it was only six years late. That was the only information available. Jackson sighed as he put his phone away and rolled over, closing his eyes. He would have to visit again to check if it was open tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

It was locked when Jackson tried the door on a morning walk. He thought perhaps he was too early at nine am. So the next day he tried again at one. Closed again. A few days later at four on his way home from the gym.

Closed. 

Not that he didn’t expect it at this point.

Jackson had given up on Young’s Books completely, his efforts reduced to glancing at it sadly when he happened to walk by. On one such occasion, his arms weighed down from a grocery haul, lightning struck.

He was coming up on the store when he happened to see a man walk over to the door, turn the handle, pull it open, and miraculously walk inside.

Jackson stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck.

This was his chance. 

Jackson made his way to the store and, with a little bit of dancing thanks to his bags, managed to get the door open. The ringing of entrance bell cheered his success.

He was finally inside. And almost immediately walked straight back outside, anxiety spiking at the appalling lack of organization. In the weeks since he first peeked through the window it had if anything become more messy. Books of all sizes and colours and genres were everywhere. Books about philosophy and art and science piled on the checkout desk. Books in the display window that were too cluttered to be displayed. Books on rows of shelves were leaning on each other for support and gathered in ungraceful stacks. Stacks of books on the floor, so high and crooked the tower of pisa would be envious. 

Despite this Jackson put aside his trepidation. He had put so much energy into getting in, maybe there was someone who worked here and understood how to find what he was looking for. He stepped forward with resolution. 

Right onto the tail of the grey cat. A pained meow sent a startled Jackson teetoring backwards. Reaching out instinctively he grabbed at a pile of books. The whole bunch of them, and Jackson, crashed to the floor. 

“Oh darn it,” he said, taking a moment on the ground to gather himself as the cat's tail flicked out of sight. With all the excitement he hadn’t noticed a man appear from behind the row of bookshelves. In his dazed state and new perspective of the world from below, it took Jackson a moment to recognize him. But recognize he did: it was the watermelon man from the grocery store.

Despite Jackson’s unflattering below view he still thought the stranger was so handsome, with some new stubble and his eyebrows raised to his curly brown mop of hair as though confused as to how Jackson had ended up on the floor. The man was silent as he surveyed the damage. 

“Hello,” Jackson said, feeling stupid. The man’s gaze snapped back to Jackson.  
“Are you... alright?” he asked, scratching the side of his face and looking quite uncertain about himself. Even though he was the one on the floor Jackson found himself feeling bad for him.

“Oh yeah, no worries, just went for a little tumble. The cat probably got it worse,” Jackson rambled, picking himself up and gathering his things. “I think I stepped on his tail.” The man’s eyes had turned to the scattered books, prompting Jackson to continue. “And then I hit those over, what a mess!”

“It is quite a mess.” The man shook his head and crouched down to gather the books back together. 

Jackson was glad he wasn’t the only one surprised by the state of the store.

“Tell me about it,” he continued, shaking his head in disbelief. “Who can run a store looking like this? Not to mention the hours are ridiculous, it took me weeks to even get inside!” 

“I guess that would be me.” The man, who was shorter than Jackson first thought (not at all helped by some of the most horrendous posture Jackson had ever had the misfortune to see) looked up at Jackson with an expression between sheepish and amused.

Jackson was confused. “Sorry, what would be you?”  
Placing his hand between himself and Jackson in offering, the stranger continued. “Llewellyn Watts, owner of Young’s books.”

Time slowed as horror trickled through Jackson’s body, freezing him in place. He stared at the hand in front of him for what Jackson finally realized was far too long to be polite before springing into action and thrusting his hand out with far too much gusto to shake the presented hand. 

“Gus, nice to meet you. Sorry, about um, everything.” Watts let his hand go and waved his remark away.

“Not to worry, I suppose I am at fault here. I was reorganizing, and then I was gone, and then, well, now I am here,” he said as though that explained anything. “Can I... help you with anything?”

Funny question coming from someone who definitely seemed like they were the one who could use some help, but Jackson took him up on the offer anyway.

“Yeah, I’ve actually been hoping to find a copy of Existentialism by Gabriel Marcel, for my niece. Do you know if it’s around here somewhere?”

Watts nodded seriously, brow furrowed in thought. 

“Yes, I believe we have it in stock. I’ve read most of these books myself, and that one is rather interesting. Let me check…” Watts let the sentence hang unfinished in favour of walking over to a bookshelf on his right and flicking through a few books before muttering to himself, “No not there.” He then moved further down the aisle out of sight. 

Jackson stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, in which he could hear a distant flurry of activity and at one point a worrying crash. Watts’ head peeked around the corner.

“Just a moment,” insisted Watts, hands extended with their index fingers up to emphasize his point, before disappearing again. This time Jackson followed him.

“If you let me know how this is all organized I could help you look,” he offered.

Watts turned in a circle to meet his gaze. 

“Ah yes, that would be helpful. As for how it’s organized… well it’s hard to tell. As I mentioned I’ve been away for a while, I had been reorganizing before I left and forget what my intentions were. So I’m coming up with a plan. And I’m in the middle of that plan...” 

“I wouldn’t mind helping you organize.” Jackson isn’t sure what made him offer this. Maybe it was because of Watts’ stupid curly hair and brown eyes and how adorable and utterly lost he was looking in his own store.  
Maybe. Probably. Jackson couldn’t know for sure. 

Watts looked surprised by the offer. 

“I…yes, I suppose that could be helpful.” Watts pointed at the section he was standing in. “We can start here. I’m trying to get them all organized by topic, and then I’ll put them in alphabetical order by last name of the author, does that make sense?”

“Yes, I think that’s pretty standard?” Actually, Jackson was certain this was standard, but the way Watts asked made him question even the obvious. Watts nodded at Jackson with a small smile, encouraged by his agreement, before his gaze drifted off. 

“Where to start…” 

“We could take them all down and make piles on the floor?” Jackson suggested. Watts nodded with enthusiasm, smiling again at Jackson in a way that made him stamp down a few butterflies. He really was ridiculously pretty.

“Of course! Very good thinking.” 

With that they began to work. 

Jackson soon found that it was not a bad way to pass an afternoon. Watts had a curious mind that held a conversation with no problem, as long as Jackson made room for a few of his peculiarities. And Watts seemed to take a shine to the way Jackson responded, commenting genuinely on his extraordinary wit. Watts asked Jackson about his niece, who was a philosophy major, and although Jackson insisted that he had read little philosophy, that didn’t stop Watts from asking him his opinion on different philosophical conundrums. Jackson found he didn’t mind one bit. A bit of prodding on Jackson’s part revealed that Watts had inherited the bookstore from Mrs. Young after her death the year before. A few months after that, on a whim he had left everything to travel the world and had just returned a week ago. 

It was only when Jackson’s phone buzzed a few times in his pocket that he realized he must have been there for quite a while. A few text messages from George confirmed this feeling. 

5:47  
_where are u? EMERGENCY ___

____

__

6:15  
_??? ___

____

____

Jackson placed one last book on the shelf and then turned towards Watts, who noticed his change in demeanor and gave him an inquisitive look. 

“I just got a text from my roommate, I have to go,” Jackson said in response to his unspoken question.

“Ah.” Watts nodded and gave him his tight lipped smile. “Well, I’m sorry we weren’t able to find that book. It’ll turn up at some point, I’m sure.”

“That’s fine, it wasn’t a bad way to spend the afternoon. And let me know if you do come across it.”

“Absolutely, you will be the first to know. And, thank you. For your help.”

Jackson gave Watts a genuine smile. “Of course.”

Watts’ look turned a bit shy, and he took a deep breath before going on. “Actually, I’m going to this hot dog stand close by, it’s the best street food around. And it’s on me, if you want to come along.”

Jackson hesitated, torn between the urgency of George’s text and the prospect of eating delicious street food with a cute man. His anxiety over George won out. Being a very incredibly good friend was Jackson’s curse.

“Sounds good, but it seems like my roommate really needs me. Maybe some other time. I’ll, uh, see you around.” 

Watts looked as if he might say something else before his face fell back into its tight smile and he gave Jackson a parting nod. With that Jackson went to retrieve his bags and made his way home, wondering what mess George could have gotten himself into. 

***  
When he got home Jackson looked around to find that nothing looked even slightly amiss. He found George in the kitchen washing dishes without any of the distress that came from his texts. 

“So, where’s the emergency?” Jackson asked. He glanced around, confused. George paused and looked up at him briefly before going back to scrubbing a pan with a sigh.

“It’s over now. I needed onions to finish making Aunt Petunia’s special pasta. Henry said that nothing could beat the pasta he had when he went to Italy for his cousins wedding but I know that nothing comes close to my Aunt Petunia’s, of course as long as you caramelize the onions, that’s the secret you see. They are absolutely essential, Aunt Petunia is always very clear about that.”

Jackson couldn’t believe his ears. “Come on, I’m sure it was fine without them,” he scoffed. 

“Well I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t let Henry eat it for the first time like that and he had to leave for rehearsal at six-thirty so we had to get take out. The pasta is in the fridge for tomorrow, if you’re around we can get the whole house together for a nice dinner.” 

Jackson wasn’t sure about this funny sounding pasta, but it was nice of George to offer. He definitely shouldn’t have forgotten about Henry’s important play rehearsal, but he also wished his friend hadn’t been so dramatic with the wording of his text. Still, Jackson figured it wasn’t worth making a fuss.

Jackson gave a big sigh. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” he said, trying and horribly failing to sound genuine. 

George looked up suspiciously. “That is not the right attitude for a nice pasta dinner.” 

“No really, I am excited for pasta dinner tomorrow,” Jackson tried again. George didn’t seem convinced, but changed the subject.

“Where were you earlier anyway? It shouldn’t have taken you that long to get groceries,” George asked, placing the pan onto the dish rack and drying his hands on a dish cloth.

“Oh, you would not believe where I was,” Jackson began, his demeanor instantly becoming brighter with the chance to tell a good story.

George listened intently as Jackson told him about his bookstore adventure. Having heard about the mysterious shop before, George was fully invested in the story, gasping and laughing at Jackson’s clumsiness and asking him to elaborate every little detail about Watts. Jackson was happy that George was as good at listening as he was at talking, and felt himself quite cheered up by the end of his tale. 

As Jackson fell silent, George’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Wait a second, this Llewellyn fellow asked you to dinner?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jackson didn’t see the point he was evidently trying to make.

“And he offered to pay?” George asked. Jackson nodded slowly, suspicious of where George was heading with this. This was apparently the confirmation George needed and his eyes grew wide as he came to his conclusion. 

“Jackson, he asked you on a date!” George said, stabbing the air with his hand to emphasize his point.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “He did not. He was just being polite. He’s probably not even into guys!”

George was not having it, and he let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh. “Jackson, you’re so oblivious sometimes. And you wonder why you’re still single.” 

Jackson huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You’re one to talk,” Jackson instantly regretted saying.

George looked genuinely confused. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Jackson had decided it was best not to talk to George or Henry about the feelings they obviously had for each other and that was a decision he was sticking to. 

George gave him a glare but let the matter drop. “So, are you going to see him again?”

Jackson opened his mouth to respond in the affirmative before a realization made it change into an annoyed groan.

“What is it?” George said, his expression amused.

“I forgot to give him my number so now he can’t call me if he finds the book!”

George laughed. “Right. Because that’s definitely the most important reason for him to have your number. It’s very important that this very cute man has your number so he can call you about a book that you could probably order for less money on Amazon.” 

Jackson couldn’t help but smile. It was a bit ridiculous. “I’ll just have to go back and give it to him.”


End file.
